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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24172438">Phobic</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne'>coolbyrne</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCIS</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Slibbs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:14:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,134</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24172438</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gibbs needs some help with a serial killer and Leon suggests a profiler who teaches at the university. NCIS as we know it, with Jack coming into the picture in a different way. AU, though in show canon. Slibbs</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>159</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Phobic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Day 5 of the Slibbs week. The prompt was "Write a fic about another way Gibbs and Sloane could have met in the show (kind of like an AU)".</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“... contrary to the information known at the time.”</p><p>The door to the lecture hall hissed open with barely a sound, allowing him to slip in unnoticed, or at least, unnoticed by the 200-plus students facing the woman who had flicked her eyes in his direction, but continued on without missing a beat.</p><p>“Today, the DSM breaks down phobias into 5 groups. Let’s hear them. You-” She pointed to the first person who put up their hand.</p><p>“Situational.”</p><p>“Right.” She turned to write it on the chalkboard. “Give me another.”</p><p>Someone shouted out, “Animals.”</p><p>“Uh-huh. Continue.”</p><p>“Nature.”</p><p>This was added to the list.</p><p>“Blood.”</p><p>“Blood/Needles/Injury, yep. One more.”</p><p>“Clowns!”</p><p>The chalk stopped and she turned around with a grin. “Who said that?” When a young man with floppy hair tentatively lifted his hand, she nodded. “Personal experience?” The room laughed and she offered a supportive smile. “You’re not alone, you know? Estimates as high as 12% say people suffer from coulrophobia.” Turning back to the board, she said, “And we lump that under ‘Other’. This umbrella covers things like a fear of choking or loud sounds. Anything that doesn’t fit under the first four.” Her eyes went to the clock at the back of the room. “By next class, I want one example from any of the five groups and how you might treat a patient suffering from that phobia. I suggest reading up on Mary Cover Jones. Thank you!”</p><p>He stepped to the side to let the wave of students go by and waited until they were alone before he started down the steps, and while she collected her papers, it allowed him an unfettered look. From the moment he had stepped into the lecture hall, he had categorized her in his automatic way, impersonal and methodical, but now that he was closer, he allowed himself to fill in the gaps. She fit the bill of ex-Army, just like her file had said, even if the pencil skirt showed off legs that were lethal in their own way. Compact yet casual, he had no doubt she could do a number on him if she ever caught-</p><p>Brown eyes met his, but before he could pull his hand out of the cookie jar, she smiled again. </p><p>“Jacqueline Sloane. You must be Special Agent Jethro Gibbs,” she said, extending her hand. His eyebrow rose. “Leon Vance gave me the head’s up.”</p><p>“How’d you know I was him?”</p><p>She looked at him up and down. “Yeah, okay.”</p><p>Her handshake was warm and dry, just like her humour. He liked her immediately. </p><p>“Dr. Sloane.”</p><p>“Please. ‘Jack’ is fine.” She motioned towards a chair and sat two spots away. Shifting sideways to look at him, she asked, “You here for my class on phobias, or-?”</p><p>“Yeah, I got an irrational fear of gnomes.”</p><p>“Garden gnomes or fictional gnomes?”</p><p>The fact that she took him at face value surprised him, but told him a lot about her compassion. It was something that had gotten lost in the current case, gotten suffocated by the pressure and the sleepless nights.</p><p>“I’m here about the run of murders we’ve had in the D.C area in the past 6 months.”</p><p>Seeing him get directly to the point, she nodded. “Yes. ‘The District Strangler’.” She wrinkled her nose in judgment. </p><p>“Thought maybe you could have a look at the file, see what you think.”</p><p>“Sure. But I thought the Feds had taken over the case.”</p><p>“They did.”</p><p>Honey coated her soft, “Ah, I see. And now, they’re not sharing, are they?” He tried to hide the confession in his face, but she grinned. “I used to work the L.A office. I know <em>all</em> about pissing contests.” She glanced at his left hand. “I take it that’s the file?”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>She reached for it and said, “I’ll have this back to you tomorrow.” </p><p>His grip held the folder firm. “I need you to look at it now.”</p><p>Her eyes searched his until the answer became clear. “You stole this file from the Feds.”</p><p>“I ‘borrowed’ this file from the Feds,” he corrected.</p><p>“Yeah, okay,” she said again. “You know there’s something called a ‘photocopier’, right?” He didn’t reply, drawing out another smile. Blowing out a breath, she sagged her shoulders and looked around. “Can I at least get something to eat first?”</p><p>“I know just the place.”</p><p>…..</p><p>“You know, when I mentioned eating, this wasn’t exactly what I was envisioning.” </p><p>He waited for her to slide into the booth before taking up the space across from her. “I can take you somewhere else if you want.”</p><p>She shook her head. “That’s not exactly what I meant, either.”</p><p>It took him a second to realize he had all but strong-armed her into going to the diner with him. “If you got somewhere else you need to be-”</p><p>“No.” Resting her chin on her hand, she mused, “You’re very driven, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Four dead victims? Ya think?”</p><p>“Mmmm. And the Keystone Cops leading the case.”</p><p>He found a reason to chuckle. “No different in L.A, huh?”</p><p>“Incompetence is the same everywhere.”</p><p>“Agent Gibbs, nice to see you again.”</p><p>They both looked up at the waitress who arrived at their table, but it was Gibbs who spoke. </p><p>“Elaine, this is Dr. Jacqueline Sloane, Dr. Sloane, Elaine.”</p><p>“Please, call me ‘Jack’,” she said, offering her hand.</p><p>Surprised, Elaine returned the handshake and glanced at Gibbs. “Oh, I like this one. And a doctor!”</p><p>“Elaine,” Gibbs warned.</p><p>She waved away the threat that rolled off her back and returned her attention to Jack. “I already know what this one wants, but what can I get for you, honey?”</p><p>“Ooh!” Jack said, rubbing her hands together. “I think I’ll have whatever he’s having. And the strongest cup of coffee you have.”</p><p>The waitress tossed an eyebrow and a grin in Gibbs’ direction before leaving them alone again.</p><p>“You don’t even know what I’m havin’,” he said.</p><p>Jack opened up the folder and spread out a couple pages. Sliding her glasses on, she didn’t bother looking up when she guessed, “Some kind of cheeseburger. Probably with bacon. Fries. Coleslaw that you never eat, even though Elaine keeps giving it to you in the hopes you’ll eat some kind of green vegetable.” Taken aback by her pinpoint profile, he didn’t reply, and Jack nodded. “Thought as much.” She made sure there was room when Elaine brought the coffee. The aroma hit her nose and she sighed. “Fantastic. Thank you.” Reaching for the sugar, she began pouring as she asked, “So what’s your theory?” His eyes went to the folder. “I know. And I’ll get to it. But I want to find out what the file won’t tell me. So let’s hear it.” </p><p>He watched in mild horror at the amount of white grains being poured into the cup, but relented to her request. “It’s gotta be someone they know, someone they feel comfortable with. There’s no sign of struggle, no witnesses. Someone they let close enough. But we can’t make the connection. No lines that cross. No delivery men, no exes. Work, hobbies, school, nothing.”</p><p>“You know that’s not true,” she said. “There’s something. You just haven’t found it yet.”</p><p>“Same thing.”</p><p>“Your frustration is understandable, but it’s also clouding your perception.”</p><p>“Guess that’s why I came to you.”</p><p>“Or Leon sent you to me to get you out of his hair.”</p><p>He hid his smirk behind his coffee cup and opened his arms when Elaine brought their food.</p><p>…..</p><p>“Don’t look so smug. It doesn’t look good on you.”</p><p>“Oh, it looks <em>great</em> on me,” she countered, picking the stray bacon bit left on his plate. “Now, let’s get down to business.” Elaine materialized right on cue with the coffee pot. “Elaine, could you spare 4 pieces of paper from your book there?”</p><p>The waitress pulled out her receipt book. “These here?” Jack nodded and she followed suit. “Sure thing.” Placing the 4 small sheets on the table, she asked, “Anything else?”</p><p>“I think we’re good, Elaine,” Gibbs thanked her. He watched as Jack put the name of a victim on each piece of paper. Methodically and neatly, she filled it with bullet points that pertained to each of them as well as all of them: age, hair colour, where the body was found, employment. The only thing that seemed to match them all was method of death. Strangulation.</p><p>“Got a phone?” she asked him. “I’ll take a picture for you so you have a copy.” When he slid his across the table, she held it up to the light. “Oh, hello, 2005, I missed you so much!” His narrowed eyes had no affect on her. “Maybe I’ll make the copy and give you the originals?” She pulled out her phone, arranged the paper and took some photos. </p><p>He pocketed both the phone and her notes. “What’s your take on this guy?”</p><p>She sat back and looked out the window. “Not much different than yours. Methodical. Approachable. But lacking in some definitive way.” He snorted, catching her attention. “Where would you catch the eye of a woman? I mean, if you weren’t a blue-eyed silver fox.”</p><p>He laughed, then mirrored her pose. “Coffee shop. Grocery store. Diner.”</p><p>She caught the last word, innocently weighted, and grinned. “Okay. But you couldn’t find a connection through the common entry points. So where else? Who could bring all these women together?”</p><p>“We checked, Jack. Doctors, Dentists, Bank Tellers. Nothing matched.”</p><p>“Does anyone actually go to the bank these days?”</p><p>His hand came up and dropped to the table. “I’m sayin’ there’s no connection.”</p><p>“That you’ve found. There’s always a connection, Special Agent Gibbs.”</p><p>“Just ‘Gibbs’.” </p><p>“Okay, ‘Just Gibbs’. You’d better get this folder back to NCIS before it turns back into a pumpkin.”</p><p>Taken slightly aback by her suggestion, he said, “That’s it?”</p><p>The mug paused at her lips. “You expected me to solve this over a bacon cheeseburger and fries? Don’t get me wrong- this is <em>damn</em> good coffee, however.” She finished the drink and slid out of the booth. “I have class at 8am.” Before he could put his annoyance into words, she said, “I’ve seen the file now. Give me some time to process it, okay?”</p><p>So used to expecting miracles and pushing people to make them, her request caught him off-guard. “Yeah, sure.” He stood and dropped some bills onto the table. “Let me walk you to your car.”</p><p>“What a gentleman,” she teased, but she slipped her arm through his nonetheless. “Nice meeting you, Elaine,” she said as they passed the counter.</p><p>“You, too, sweetie. I’ll see you again.” </p><p>Her stern stare at Gibbs made him roll his eyes. “Good night, Elaine.”</p><p>…..</p><p>If she had trouble sleeping or didn’t get her needed allotment, he couldn’t tell from the back of the class. And if she saw him come in, she gave no indication, continuing her lecture to a rapt audience that now included him. For the first time in ages, he had slept through the night, under the bow of his boat, images of blood and bodies gently pushed aside by brown and blonde, smiling eyes and the touch that had burned around his bicep. He had just reached out to bring her mouth down to his when his phone rang, bringing him out of his dream and lifting the curtain on the day. The eggs at the diner helped, and Elaine’s persistence had pushed him in the direction of the university with a cup of coffee in hand. Two, in fact. Coming into the class late gave him less time to enjoy her presence, but left enough time to keep the coffee hot.</p><p>Again he waited for the class to clear before taking the long walk to the bottom. This time, she was waiting for him with crossed arms.</p><p>“When I said ‘give me time to process it’, I kinda meant a little more than 10 hours.”</p><p>“Yeah, I figured,” he replied. “Elaine made me bring you this.”</p><p>“Did she? That’s very sweet. I’ll have to find a way to thank her.”</p><p>“I brought it,” he all but pouted.</p><p>“My hero,” she said, tapping his cheek like she had been doing it for ages. </p><p>He wasn’t one to wax poetic about attraction or love, but he knew magnetism when he felt it, and it inched them closer and closer until only the cup was between them. Holding his gaze until her eyes went to his lips, she took his offering and made a purposeful step back, as if suddenly surprised by their closeness. He was debating whether to joke about it or ignore it when his phone made the decision for him.</p><p>“Yeah,” he said into the device, though his eyes never left her. “Okay.” He ended one call and made another. “1088 Danforth Avenue. I’ll meet ya there.”</p><p>“The case?” she asked.</p><p>“No. Different one.”</p><p>“No rest for the wicked.” Despite her marked distance, she needlessly flattened his lapel. “You look nice.” The words hit her ears and she looked up to the ceiling, clearly chastising herself, but he wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily.</p><p>“Couldn’t decide between the dark blue shirt and the darker blue shirt, so thanks.”</p><p>His teasing got him a hard push in the shoulder. “Go.”</p><p>“Think you’ll have had time to process if I come back later?” His singular focus on the case would always win out over his personal desires, but the question covered both, though he did well at covering the latter.</p><p>“Yeah, I think so. I get a break after lunch so I’ll have a longer look then.” Students started trickling in for the next class and she took another step back now that they had an audience. Still, she couldn’t help but whisper, “Go catch the bad guy.”</p><p>…..</p><p>The man standing near her table wasn’t the one she expected, and she swallowed her disappointment along with her ham sandwich. Quickly covering some of the papers, she looked up with a curious smile.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Dr. Sloane?”</p><p>The smile stayed even as the curiosity increased. “Yes.”</p><p>“I’m Detective Cleary. Aidan Cleary. I’m the local working on the recent string of murders in the area.” He held out his hand, which she accepted and shook.</p><p>“Ah, yes, Detective Cleary. I’ve seen your name.” She assumed there was no point in hiding the fact she had access to the file. He wouldn’t have been there for any other reason.</p><p>He tipped his head to the folder. “Director Vance was kind enough to send me your way.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he rolled back on his heels. “I was the one called in on the first case.”</p><p>“Kristen Pomolski,” she said.</p><p>“Yeah. Hell of a case on its own. Then to have three more after it.” His voice trailed off, lost. </p><p>“I heard the Feds took over.”</p><p>There was no mirth in his laugh. “Yeah. They’ve been trying to fight their way out of a wet paper bag ever since.”</p><p>“I suspect Agent Gibbs feels the same.”</p><p>“He’s a hard bastard, but on that, we agree.” He shrugged. “And he’s been good about keeping me in the loop even though neither one of us are supposed to be working on it.”</p><p>She parsed his words. “Yet it was Director Vance who told you I was looking it over.”</p><p>“Let’s say I learned quick to not butt heads with Agent Gibbs. He doesn’t mind me staying involved, so long as I’m discrete.”</p><p>There was an absolute truth in his confession that made her smile. “I don’t doubt you.” Her tap on the folder doubled as an apology. “Unfortunately, I haven’t found anything more than Agent Gibbs.”</p><p>Cleary sighed. “Yeah, I figured. No offense,” he quickly added. “It’s just me and my partner went over it with a fine tooth comb, then Agent Gibbs and his team revisited it when that Navy Lieutenant was found. I guess… I guess I’m just hoping, is all.”</p><p>“Don’t lose that,” she told him. “The hope.” </p><p>“Yeah.” He blew out a hard breath. “Anyway, I know NCIS has their own cases to work on, so he might get busy, so if you find anything, or have any questions or want to hash out any theories… anything, Dr. Sloane.” He handed her his card.</p><p>“You have my word, Detective Cleary.” She watched him leave, his shoulders sagged, and she couldn’t help but feel for him. She turned back to the folder with renewed vigour. </p><p>…..</p><p>“... is another example of conditioning. Can someone explain how this works in desensitization?” Her eyes went around the room, avoiding Gibbs who had slipped into a seat. “Yes?” She pointed at a young woman four rows back.</p><p>“The idea is to condition the brain to grow accustomed to the phobia through exposure. We then become desensitized to the negative stimuli.”</p><p>Jack nodded. “Very good. In the quick poll we did at the beginning of class, 12 of you admitted to arachnophobia; a fear of spiders. We’re going to get an idea of how desensitization might work. So let me ask those 12 people- on a scale of 1 to 5, with 5 being something like, “I will crap my pants if I see a spider”, who would rate their fear at a 1 or 2?” Four put up their hand, one being the girl who answered the original question. “Okay, how about you? Amy, right?”</p><p>“Yes,” she replied, surprised at Jack’s memory.</p><p>“Let that be a lesson to you,” Jack said, feigning a scowl and pointing across the room. “I remember <em>all</em> of you.” The class laughed and she winked. Turning back to the student, she said, “You were as honest as possible about how you’d rate your phobia, right? Because I’m not here to distress you or frighten you.”</p><p>Amy nodded. “No, I think ‘1’ is accurate. Maybe a ‘2’?”</p><p>“Okay, we’ll go with that.” The class chuckled again. “So why don’t you take a seat by my desk and we’ll start with something simple.” She waited for the girl to sit before continuing, “First, let’s put your finger in this; we’re going to watch your heart rate on this display here.” She lifted a small digital counter, no larger than an alarm clock. “Okay? Okay. What if I told you this photo I have, face down on my desk, is a photo of a spider?” The heart monitor quickly sped up, but soon slowed. “I’m going to turn it over, okay?” Amy nodded and three students squealed when Jack revealed the photo. The spider’s legs extended to each corner of the photo and Amy’s heart rate accelerated again. “Take a minute, but then I want you to rest your hand on it.” The class recoiled as one. Gibbs leaned closer. Amy took a breath then slowly placed her hand on the photo. Again, her heart rate increased, but despite it taking slightly longer than before, it began to slow. “Tell me what’s going on.”</p><p>Amy licked her lips. “Uh, I’m trying not to freak out? My eyes are sending this fight-or-flight feeling to my brain. But it’s not as bad as the very first time.”</p><p>“And that’s because of two reasons: first, her brain is telling her the truth. It’s working past the lies her eyes are telling her. Second, our body can only produce so much adrenaline; it can only keep you on that ‘high’ for so long before the brain says, ‘Listen. I’ve been waiting and waiting for the worst to happen. It’s why I’ve been producing all this adrenaline. But if nothing’s going to happen, then what’s the point?’ You come down from that heightened state without anything having happened. Then the next time you’re confronted with your phobia, your brain reacts the same again, except the come down is quicker, the realization is quicker. Until finally your brain doesn’t react to that phobia at all.’” She looked at Amy. “How are you doing?”</p><p>“I’m good. Not great, but good.”</p><p>Jack smiled and slid the photo from under her hand and flipped it over, face down. “What if I told you that was a picture of a spider?”</p><p>The heart rate monitor barely rose.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m okay.” Her smile supported her verdict.</p><p>“Keep in mind, this isn’t an immediate solution. We’d have to subject Amy to this several times, and the more extreme the reaction, of course, the longer it would take, and other stimuli might be needed. That might include actual interaction with the phobia. In this case, a spider.” Jack walked over to the small box on her desk and brought it over to Amy.</p><p>“Nope.” She immediately stood and took her finger out of the heart monitor.</p><p>“Amy,” Jack said gently. “Do you trust me?”</p><p>She swallowed hard but relented with a nod. “Yes.”</p><p>“Then I want you to open it.”</p><p>Another round of squeals went around the room as Amy hesitated, began to open the box, then hesitated again until she took a deep breath and lifted the lid. Her laugh was all the anxiety leaving her lungs. “It’s chocolate truffle cake from La Bakeria,” she told the class. </p><p>“You earned it,” Jack said, squeezing her arm. “Thank you for trusting me.”</p><p>“If I volunteer next time, can I get cake?”</p><p>Jack lifted her chin and grinned at Gibbs who had shouted the question. “Careful what you wish for. And let’s end it there, shall we? If you read about Mary Cover Jones -<em>like I asked</em>- you probably came across the name John B. Watson. Your book has an entire chapter on the Little Albert experiment and classical conditioning. I think you’ll find it quite different from what we talked about today. Let’s talk about that next class.”</p><p>He came down the stairs to a smile he was quickly beginning to enjoy.</p><p>“Hey,” she greeted. “You learn anything today?”</p><p>He shook his head. “Nah. I got pulled into another case.”</p><p>“I remember. I was kind of referring to you spending time in my class. Might have to consider sending you a tuition fee.”</p><p>Grinning, he said, “I think you can help people not be afraid of spiders by showing them pictures of spiders.”</p><p>“Mmmm,” she frowned. “I don’t think I’d give you high marks for that dissertation.” She waited a minute before suggesting, “Your stubbornness stops you from getting over it. Whatever ‘it’ is.” She began collecting her things, and her choice to not push him should’ve been enough for him to do the same, but his self-sabotaging was never far from hand.</p><p>“You got phobias, Jack?”</p><p>There was more under the question and it was clear she heard it, based on how her hands froze and her expression went flat. </p><p>“Claustrophobia.” She sighed. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”</p><p>The ice shard stuck between his ribs. </p><p>“I read your file, yeah.” He tried to brush it off as a standard vetting procedure, but she was having none of it.</p><p>“No, you didn’t just ‘read’ my file,” she said, tossing the papers into her bag. “Not my file. You had to bat those baby-blues to someone at the DoD. Someone with enough clearance to ‘read’ my file.”</p><p>Being a master of building walls, he recognized it when he saw it in others, and there was a part of him that marvelled at her craftsmanship, but there was a larger part that wanted to tell her he had read the file before he met her, that it was his habit to recon the situation before committing, that had he known he’d trust her from the second he met her he never would’ve read it. In its place, he said, “I don’t like water. Around my mouth.” He motioned vaguely around his face. “Water phobia.”</p><p>She stopped what she was doing, a forgiveness buffering her anger. “No,” she gently corrected, recognizing the admission for what it was. “Pnigophobia. The fear of being suffocated.” His jaw clenched, biting back all the secrets she had already guessed. She seemed to be weighing something in her mind before she said, “Listen, in the future, if you want to know something, just ask, okay?</p><p>That she was giving him the option of a future warmed him in a way he didn’t expect. In an attempt at not being such a bastard, he said, “Hey.” She glanced down at his hand on her wrist. “I shouldn’tve done that.”</p><p>“No, you shouldn’t,” she agreed, and watched a shocked expression spread across his face. “Not used to people calling you out on your bullshit, are you?”</p><p>“Not really, no.”</p><p>“Well, that just takes a little conditioning, too.” She turned away from his figurative jaw-drop and finished putting everything away. “And you can make it up to me by treating me to another one of those bacon cheeseburgers.”</p><p>Her patience was interrupted by his phone. Holding up a finger, he barked into the cell. “What?” Silence took over, marked by his grunt. “On my way.” The snap of the phone closing was almost apologetic. “Meet me there,” he said. “Got somethin’ I need to take care of.”</p><p>“Your case?”</p><p>“Yeah. Might have a lead on a suspect. Just need to follow up.”</p><p>“You don’t have to explain to me, Gibbs. Go, do your job. I’ll meet you there.” </p><p>Her smile infused her words with warmth and kindness, and the way she squeezed his hand did something more. He could feel his ears inexplicably go hot, and the smile that lifted her lips and caught his attention didn’t help. </p><p>“Go,” she repeated. “Come when you can.” He nodded and lightly jogged up the stairs, only to hear her quip, “Nice six, Marine.”</p><p>He made sure not to stumble on the top step.</p><p>…..</p><p>Elaine had greeted her with a smile, a wink and a cup of coffee, and now, two hours later, a sympathetic, “He does this, sweetie. Nature of his job.”</p><p>Though she was disappointed, Jack understood. “I gather he’s a bit of a dog with a bone?”</p><p>Elaine laughed. “That’s one way to put it. He’s a protector; it’s who he is.” She said the words fondly, giving Jack another piece of the man she was putting together in her head. “Though I’m surprised he hasn’t called you.”</p><p>“Doesn’t have my number.”</p><p>“Oh, now that <em>is</em> a surprise.” On cue, the diner phone rang. “Be right back with more coffee.” </p><p>“Yes, please!” Left alone, Jack gazed out the window, contemplating her next move, both in the short term and long. She chuckled at her own ‘dilemma’; in less than 2 days, she’d fallen under the spell of blue eyes and a lazy smirk, and she couldn’t believe how easy it had been. God knew, after Afghanistan, her relationships were limited to ‘one-night-only-thank-you-very-much’, and if she wasn’t entirely okay with it, she accepted it for what it was, because for all her talk about conditioning and desensitization, it didn’t stop her from waking up screaming, or from sleeping with 2 nightlights. She knew if she couldn’t work it out in her own mind, how could she expect a potential partner to do it for her? The reminder of her own weaknesses faded her smile, and thoughts of him went with it. </p><p>“Jack!”</p><p>She answered the call with a look towards the counter.</p><p>Holding out the phone, Elaine mouthed, “For you.” Her wink told Jack exactly who it was.</p><p>“Hey,” she said.</p><p>“Not gonna make it.” </p><p>“I figured. Too bad, because the coffee is especially good today. Can’t explain it.” When it didn’t get the chuckle she expected, she asked, “Tough one?”</p><p>“Yeah. Our prime suspect was found stuffed in a closet. With his 5 year old son.”</p><p>“Damn it,” she whispered. </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>He sounded tired, but she suspected telling him to get some sleep was out of the question, so she suggested, “Get 5 minutes, here and there. Somewhere quiet, no distractions. When I was in L.A, I would use the morgue. Will you do that for me?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Though his reply was terse, there was enough in it to know he was being honest. “Ya gotta pen? I need you to text me your number.”</p><p>“Tell me, I’ll remember.” </p><p>He rattled off his own number, then sighed. “Gotta go, Jack. I’ll see ya.”</p><p>…..</p><p>Except she didn’t see him. For two full days, every motion in the back of the room caught her eye, but it was never who she wanted to see. Two days of her new habit which involved going 20 minutes out of her way in the morning to get her diner coffee. Elaine was pleased as punch, but she never had any news to tell her of a certain agent. On the third day, he had snuck into the lecture hall, taken a seat and promptly fallen asleep. Before she had a chance to envision their conversation, he had jolted awake, offered a quick wave and was out the door again, no doubt answering work’s siren call. The original case had all but been pushed to the side until the fourth day, when she woke up to the news. A fifth body had been found. Considering the weight she was starting to feel, carrying both her actual job and the frustrations of not being able to help him with his, she could only imagine how he was feeling. She got a good idea when Elaine jerked her head to the booth at the end of the row the second she stepped into the diner. </p><p>It was Gibbs alright, and despite not knowing him very long, she would bet he’d rarely looked so tired. Tucked into the booth with a young goateed man on his left and a younger looking pair across the table, his eyes were almost vacant, though his face was hard. Based on the volume that could almost be heard at the register, they were all in a heated conversation. Jack didn’t need to guess. Thanking Elaine, she took her coffee to the booth.</p><p>“Dr. Jacqueline Sloane,” she introduced herself when Gibbs remained silent. Three faces looked up, friendly yet inquisitive and she offered more information. “Special Agent Gibbs asked me to look over the case. The District Strangler.”</p><p>“Lot of good it did,” he grumbled.</p><p>The man to his left stood. “Special Agent Tim McGee, ma’am.” He shook her hand and introduced the other two as Agents Torres and Bishop, then offered his seat.</p><p>“No, that’s fine, I can-”</p><p>He already pulled a chair over and took a seat at the end of the table.</p><p>“Thank you, Tim.” The use of his first name brought a smile to his face, though Gibbs’ cloud quickly dissipated it. “Right,” she continued, “so what do we know?”</p><p>The one introduced as Torres glanced at Gibbs, but seeing no opposition, looked at her and said, “Beth Speigelman. Found behind a dumpster in Wisconsin Avenue. Strangled from behind. Wallet and jewellery still on the body. We’re pretty sure it’s the same guy, but we can’t get close.”</p><p>“Because of the Feds,” Jack finished. </p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>“You have an inside guy though, don’t you? A homicide detective.”</p><p>The female agent frowned. “Detective Cleary.”</p><p>Gibbs spoke like he was talking through gravel. “How’d you know about him?”</p><p>The tone might’ve worked on his younger agents, but she shifted in her seat to give him a full look at her face. “He came to see me the day after you visited.”</p><p>“What’d you tell him?”</p><p>“Don’t try that accusatory shit on me just because you’re frustrated,” she said with a calmness in her voice even as the other three when absolutely silent. “Doesn’t make the victims any less dead, does it?” She didn’t know Agent Bishop, but she was fairly certain her eyes never went as wide as they did when they heard Jack’s order. And she was sure she saw Torres mouth the word ‘Wow’. Still focused on Gibbs, she said, “Of <em>course</em> I didn’t say anything. It’s not my first rodeo, remember, Cowboy? A decade with the L.A office- pretty sure I remember when to keep my mouth shut.” The table was dead quiet and no one moved. She breathed in deeply through her nose and heard Agent McGee subconsciously follow her example. “That being said,” she continued with additional softness, “I also remember the locals getting more leeway than our office.”</p><p>McGee spoke up first, marking his spot as the senior agent of the three. “The Feds get to play big shots around the LEOs.”</p><p>“Exactly. So maybe you can get information through-” Her abrupt stop made the three younger agents lean closer. </p><p>Gibbs prompted her with a hard, “What?”</p><p>She was so caught up in her train of thought that she didn’t reprimand him for his tone. “We’ve been looking at all the people these women met before the murders. Trying to pin down the people they meet every day. What about the people they rarely meet but still trust?” She was met with a round of confusion, so she decided to try a different approach. “Special Agent Gibbs, how many women would you say you met in your line of work over the years? Hundreds? Thousands? How many of those women trusted you just because you were an officer of the law?”</p><p>Bishop pulled out her laptop. “You think it’s Aiden Cleary.” It fired to life and she quickly tapped in some information.</p><p>“Can’t be,” Tim argued. “Guy’s been on the job for 20 years. And to be honest, he was one of the first names I crossed off the suspect list.” Torres raised his eyebrow. “Please, I have also been at the rodeo more than once.” </p><p>Jack smiled at the turn of phrase. Gibbs was harder to crack. </p><p>“Talk to me,” he told Bishop.</p><p>Under furrowed brows, she shook her head. “Nothing comes up. His file is clean and nothing looks out of the ordinary.”</p><p>Her words deflated the group until Gibbs pointed at Bishop. “Who was the LEO at the scene who called in Homicide?”</p><p>The keys clacked again. “Officer Cory Nesbitt.” Another pause. “Three years on the force, transferred from Cedar Hill, Texas. Nothing to make anyone think he’d be a murderer.”</p><p>“Track his badge number to any calls that were in the vicinity of any of the victims,” Gibbs said, holding tight to the lead. “Noise violation, domestic dispute, anything that would’ve had someone call the police.”</p><p>Torres looked over Bishop’s shoulder, and his nod and smile was a barometer for the information that was coming up on her screen. </p><p>“Cops were called in to break up a fight between two brothers. Three houses down from the second victim,” he said, snapping his fingers at the computer. </p><p>“A break and enter across the street from Kristen Pomolski,” Bishop added. “Our first victim.” </p><p>“He transferred from Texas,” Jack noted. “Check his background there; he likely didn’t start off with murder here. Probably some kind of stalking complaint, maybe a physical assault that got swept under the rug.”</p><p>Bishop looked up at Gibbs.</p><p>“Do it. And match every victim to a call he answered.”</p><p>As her fingers flew over the keys, she asked, “Are we telling the Feds, or-?”</p><p>“Or what, Bishop?” he asked.</p><p>“Nevermind.”</p><p>Jack grinned at the exchange. It was clear that under the gruff exchange, theirs was a special relationship. </p><p>His attention turned to her. “What are <em>you</em> smilin’ about?”</p><p>“Nothing,” she replied, though her grin said the opposite. “I just forgot what it feels like, to do good.”</p><p>He objected to her delineation. “You do good, Sloane. I saw you with that student.” Confusion brought her eyebrows together. “Amy,” he clarified, “the one with the spider thing.”</p><p>“Spider?” Nick all but squeaked. “Where?”</p><p>Gibbs tilted his head at Torres. “Ya might wanna give this one a shot.”</p><p>Jack lowered her head even as she was laughing. “Not the same thing. But I appreciate the thought.”</p><p>Shrugging, he said, “Not the same, but doesn’t make it less good.”</p><p>“You a head doctor or something?” Torres asked, finding his lower register again.</p><p>“Psychologist, yes. I teach at the university. We’re currently discussing phobias. I can help you if you’re interested.”</p><p>“Nah. Nah, I’m good.” He made sure no one was looking when he minutely nodded.</p><p>The exchange was interrupted when Bishop said, “All five victims lived within half a block of a call answered by Officer Nesbitt and his partner. And you called it, Dr. Sloane- he was given a warning and 2 citations under the ‘Peeping Tom’ law. Dad was the mayor, so guess how that went?”</p><p>“Went ‘bye-bye’ is how it went,” Torres guessed.</p><p>“McGee, get a warrant for Officer Nesbitt’s residence.”</p><p>“On it, Boss.” Tim stood up, slid the chair back in its place and held out his hand to Jack. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Sloane. I hope to see you again.”</p><p>“I’m sure we will, Tim.”</p><p>“Nick, Bishop, go have a chat with Detective Cleary. Bring him up to speed. Avoid the Feds. I’ll meet everyone back at the office in 30.”</p><p>The duo slipped out of the booth, and as Jack shook his hand, she pressed her card into his palm. “Very nice to meet you, Nicholas. Agent Bishop.”</p><p>As they made for the exit, she could hear her say, “Are you blushing, <em>Nicholas</em>?”</p><p>Left alone, Jack let the silence settle, sipping her coffee while he chugged his down. The seat across was now empty, but she chose to stay put, enjoying the drink and the company. A long exhale made her think he was doing the same. The release had her turning to look at him, and now, without an audience, she was able to let her eyes search his face. </p><p>“You look tired,” she said, not unkindly. “Did you nap in the morgue?”</p><p>He shook his head. “Caught some shut eye in my Psych class.”</p><p>Her eyebrow quirked up. “Your Psych class, huh? I think I should be offended you fell asleep, but then again, you’re not paying anything.”</p><p>“Don’t be offended,” he said. “I don’t let just anyone see me sleep.”</p><p>It was meant partly as a joke, but she caught the confessional bit, too. “You drive forward until you’ve found justice. It’s in your nature.”</p><p>That she could see through him so clearly had him covering his vulnerability with a chuckle. “You been talkin’ to my therapist, Sloane?”</p><p>She went along with the joke, refusing to press. “No. I’ve been talking to your waitress.”</p><p>Her ability to ease the moment turned his chuckle into a laugh. “That how you found out I was a Marine?”</p><p>Her tactile nature coming to the fore, she reached up and brushed her fingertips through the bristle around his ear. “No, the high and tight did that.”</p><p>Her touch was so soft that he couldn't stop his eyes from drifting shut. It was a kindness that nearly lulled him to sleep. Her voice gently reached his ears.</p><p>“You’ll rest tonight, right?”</p><p>It was a question, yet had a certainty to it, like she knew his mind was clear, at least for another day.</p><p>“How’d you know I closed that other case?” he asked, reluctantly opening his eyes.</p><p>“Because you and your team were in a heated discussion about a case you’re <em>technically</em> not involved in. You wouldn’t neglect a current case, even if you wanted desperately to stick it to the Feds. Besides, I figured that’s why you left my class yesterday.”</p><p>He hummed at her perceptive nature. “I wouldn’t say ‘desperately’,” he argued, though it had little bite, and even less when he leaned into her touch.</p><p>As if realizing what she was doing, she dropped her hand, but not too quickly and not too far, letting it rest on his collar, then sliding down his lapel. “Is this your darker blue shirt?”</p><p>His smile crinkled his eyes. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”</p><p>“You two staying for coffee?” He glanced over Jack’s shoulder and up at Elaine to shake his head. “I gotcha,” the waitress said. “I’ll bring two to go.”</p><p>Jack twisted her watch around and swore. “Shit! I’m going to be late.” She stood quickly and grabbed her purse. </p><p>“You’re the teacher; aren’t you allowed to show up whenever you want?”</p><p>“Says the student who wanders into class whenever he feels like it.”</p><p>“Think I’ll still pass?”</p><p>She slapped his arm but couldn’t resist playing along. “Bring the teacher an apple and we’ll see.”</p><p>Elaine returned with their coffee and caught just enough of their banter to grin at Gibbs. “Teacher’s pet, huh?”</p><p>He slipped out of the booth and stood, taking his coffee. Dismissing Elaine’s playfulness with a glare that went nowhere, he leaned closer to Jack, kissed her cheek and was out the door before Jack could find her voice. </p><p>…..</p><p>She didn’t hear from him for the rest of the morning, but she didn’t expect to; if their theory turned out the way she hoped, he was finishing up the case. The thought of him pulling the rug out from the Feds made her smile over her lunch, imagining soft blue eyes turning steel almost made her feel sorry for the suits. Almost. A quick glance at the clock had her wrapping things up and making her way to the afternoon class in order to give her a few minutes to prepare. Coming in from the side entrance, she saw it on her desk immediately. A small box from La Bakeria, the same place she had gotten the cake she had given to her student. Remembering what the young girl had feared made Jack hesitate ever so slightly before shaking her head at the connection.</p><p><em>Sometimes a box is just a box,</em> she told herself.</p><p>Still, she picked it up with care, and when the weight of it told her the contents were exactly what she suspected, she grinned and lifted the lid. Inside was a perfect piece of chocolate truffle cake. And a note.</p><p>
  <em>Couldn’t find any apples.</em>
</p><p>She sat in her chair and pulled out her phone.</p><p>
  <em>Chocolate will always get you an A.</em>
</p><p>She had barely hit ‘send’ when her phone rang.</p><p>“Let me guess- you don’t text.”</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>His economy with words made her smile. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I just wanted to thank you for the cake.”</p><p>“You’re not botherin’ me. We got the warrant for Nesbitt’s apartment. Found some of the victims’ personal belongings. Brought him in. Didn’t take long.”</p><p>“Good. I’m glad.”</p><p>“Yeah. Me, too.”</p><p>“Sorry I missed you earlier. When did you get here?”</p><p>“Twenty minutes ago.” She could almost see his shrug. “Coffee run.”</p><p>Students started filtering into the room. “Hey, I’ve got to go.” Her voice was apologetic. “But I suspect you enjoy talking on the phone as much as you enjoy texting.” His reply was a short laugh. “So… I guess I’ll see you.”</p><p>“Door’s open, Sloane. And bring some whiskey.”</p><p>The end went dead before she could ask him what he meant.</p><p>…..</p><p>It was when she decided to spoil her dinner by eating the cake that his cryptic message became clear. After calling it a day, grabbing a fork and leaning against her kitchen counter, something on the other side of the card caught her attention. Holding it between a thumb and forefinger while she scooped the fork into her mouth, it became apparent it was an address.</p><p>
  <em>His address, dummy.</em>
</p><p>Tossing the cake into the fridge, she glanced down at her sweatpants, frantically raced into her bedroom to change, grabbed her keys and was out the door.</p><p>…..</p><p>And had the drive over been instantaneous, she’d be on the other side of <em>his </em>door, instead of sitting in her car, wondering what she was doing. But the travel had given her time to think, and in her case, overthink. Her critical nature warned about the speed of whatever was happening between them, doubted the veracity of whatever it was. But her open nature excused all of it, because she knew she felt something, was certain he felt it, too. They were adults, familiar with the signs, and in the short four days they’d known each other, the road was littered with them. </p><p>Confident in her ability to read people -even a hard-head Marine- she took a calming breath, opened her car door and made her way up to his house. Her hand rose to knock until she remembered his words, and not quite believing it, she tentatively tried the door handle. Sure enough, it turned, and the door inched open. Stepping inside, she couldn’t stop her curiosity, both personal and professional, from looking around the entranceway, then the living room. The ancient TV was the first thing to catch her eye and she laughed. Everything was orderly and safe; even the blanket thrown over the back of the couch looked warm. She was just about to call out his name when she heard a noise near the kitchen, and she followed the rhythmic sound. A door that led to a basement was cracked open and she stepped in. </p><p>Like the rest of the house (or at least the little she had seen), a kind of comfort greeted her, except this one was in smell. Wood and sawdust and turpentine, and for a brief moment, she was transported to her childhood. Smiling at the memory, she took two steps down the stairs until she saw him, bent and focused, red Marine hoodie sprinkled with shavings. </p><p>“Startin’ to think you weren’t comin’, Sloane.”</p><p>Something in his words made her slap her forehead. “I forgot the whiskey!”</p><p>“I got some over on the bench.” When she didn’t move, he looked up from his work. His eyes asked her a wordless question.</p><p>Tapping the bannister with her fingers, she debated her words, then went with simple honesty. “If I come down, I’m not leaving tonight.”</p><p>Her frankness caught him by surprise, but in a good way. Grinning under the bare lightbulb. “Was kinda hopin’ as much.”</p><p>“Okay,” she said, as if they had just agreed on a movie, and she came down the remainder of the stairs. He was pouring her a drink in a mason jar when she tugged him by the hoodie’s pocket. “Just one more thing.”</p><p>Her lips were on his, causing the whiskey to spill, but neither seemed to care. In fact, the drink was blindly put to the side so that his hands were free to thread through her hair and pull her to him. Her body moulded into his like a long lost puzzle piece, and her moan was a sound his ears had been waiting a lifetime to hear. She seemed to feel it, too, because her hands fisted his hoodie tighter, bringing them impossibly closer. It was only when his hands slid down to find their way under her shirt that she tensed.</p><p>Pulling his mouth back just enough to look at her, the surroundings came into focus and reality kicked in. “You okay?” he asked, recognizing the basement’s confines for the first time through someone else’s eyes.</p><p>Her hand came up to stroke his cheek and she was warmed by his remembrance. “Yeah. It’s just-” She reacted again when his fingers moved and he didn’t need an explanation.</p><p>“Let me try something, okay?”</p><p>She nodded.</p><p>Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, he slid his fingers under her shirt hem, gently but with intent, suspecting what he was about to find. His touch trailed up her spine and it was just below her shoulder blades where he felt the soft, smooth ridges of scar tissue he knew all too well from his own experiences. Her breathing became laboured and he forced her to keep her eyes open.</p><p>“Hey?” </p><p>She swallowed hard before looking into the softest eyes she’d ever seen. “Hey.” Her lips suddenly felt parched and she felt compelled to lick them. His gaze flicked down to her mouth, but just as quickly, back to her eyes.</p><p>“This is like conditioning, right?” he asked, his voice a low burr. </p><p>He said it so casually, so off-the-cuff, that she couldn’t help but smile. “Right. Classic conditioning for desensitization. You <em>were</em> paying attention in class.”</p><p>“Jack, you had my undivided attention the minute I saw you.” His hands curled up her shoulders, as easy as his words. “But if I understood it right, this could take a while. Repeated exposure. Multiple sessions.” He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then her lips as punctuation for each sentence. </p><p>His hands covered her scars, protective yet healing, and she felt safe for the first time in years. “Yes,” she whispered against his lips, in both agreement and thanks. “And <em>lots</em> of cake.”</p><p>He grinned against her mouth. “Sloane, I’ll buy ya the whole damn bakery.”</p><p>…..</p><p>-end</p>
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